#45 - for all the echoing in me

45

for all the echoing in me

which is a kind of tin can rattle

roofs of rain long since

no prize but prescience

have heard the tune

ages of grief

and long before

imagine procession by image

to freshen tableaux

under the stars and lost

don’t look up

tents of a desert      

literal plagues

always this me surviving yet

I never knew the words but sang

full throttle gave it

all the while back

speaking in tongues

for what we were worth

in flower bright

with stretch of limb

through wars

and revolutions

fell for it again and

the three cup trick

the pyramid

I put it all on red

here’s the king sleeping

and that was me

touch this

you’ll be right

or she will

and sometimes none

but all towards a finishing line

which is and as may be

arrows after pointed home

how else?  cause we are here

the house howled down

the trumpeted walls

most of us head over heels

hands and feet

had worst of it and so forgot

all this while had to be healing

world builded so

in ink they said sign here

got these funny feelings

and frequently fast as my pedals would paddle

of course we were all addicted

amoeba me

and cosy up

didn’t have time to think

there were no signs and nobody knew

when or where we came to our senses

was it on dry land?

did we still swim?

they asked and I filled up the page

must have been overegged to begin

nevertheless

by rights I was

or taken away

buried a head when put upon

eyes closed for muster

anonymous for much

never called out ‘present’

wasn’t

but creep little thing

and by my word

equally unseen

never in the moment

did I guess it was now

dumb luck

and after all

for the echoing after

I dedicate this day